


In My Secret Life

by ken_ichijouji (dommific)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alcohol, Background Relationships, Bibliophile Victor Nikiforov, Birthday Party, Cameo from Giorgio Armani, Clubbing, Comedy, Introvert Victor Nikiforov, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Wedding Reception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-15 04:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11798475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/pseuds/ken_ichijouji
Summary: It's not always easy being in the public eye as the face of your sport when you're an introvert that would rather read. Five times Russia's Living Legend of Figure Skating had to navigate raucous socialization when he really wanted to just sit in quiet to recharge and the one time he had a fabulous time and didn't care.AKA the Intovert Victor fic.





	In My Secret Life

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a joke with my best buds on Discord and kind of turned into...a thing.
> 
> I am an introvert, and I don't really think Victor can be anything except MAYBE an ambivert. He's very good at having a Game Face but I am fairly sure given the young Victor stares at chocolate while Yakov answers the press picture means he probably prefers some music, Makkachin, and a book. (Also I know homophobia isn't a thing in YOI but I don't actually know how that translates to AIDS so just go with me that And the Band Played On needed to be written still.)
> 
> Also he owns...lots of books in his apartment in the first episode. Like...lots.
> 
> Anyways, have Gay Victor who is An Introvert and is Done With Your Damn Party. Title is a song by Leonard Cohen.

1

When he is new to the Seniors category, Victor is incredibly excited. Juniors had grown a bit stale, with only that bright sunshine-y Swiss boy being anywhere close to his prowess by the end. Chris is nice, though, level-headed and fun. He doesn’t mind talking to him. He passes by a Juniors competitor with glasses and black hair on his way to his public practice, and he glances his way before giving him a second look.

Yakov snaps him out of it. “Vitya,” he says, gruff and sharp. “Get to work. Focus on your steps.”

Victor sips his purple Gatorade with a withering look at his coach. He’d rather refine the 4F. 

He does what he wants anyways, ignoring the colorful language Yakov employs when he’s done. He fixes his ponytail, and then he showers in the locker room and changes. They’re at loose ends for the rest of the evening with the Short Programs the next day. He has to go through a gauntlet of press and reporters, questions shouted in English, Russian, French since they’re in Brussels…he’s annoyed and wants a giant cone of _frites_. 

He gets his giant cone of _frites_ with mayo and a chocolate waffle too, fully aware Yakov will get salty about the empty calories. He doesn’t care.

He’s tired and still annoyed at having to be on all day—he smiles and laughs and answers with bon mots, but really he’d rather read.

He gets back to the room he shares with another skater under Yakov, the sounds of giggling filtering through the door. A _girl_ is giggling.

Victor sighs. He unlocks it anyways, peeking around the door. The shower is running and that’s where the girl’s giggles and Dimitri’s…whatever filth he’s saying come from. 

There’s a weird rhythmic sound against the shower door, and the girl stops giggling to basically become an opera singer. 

Victor shakes his head, sits on his bed with a book, and puts on his Bose noise-canceling headphones. _Dangerous and Moving_ blares at much louder than is safe for his eardrums as Victor reads _Wide Sargasso Sea_ , pointedly not looking up when there’s movement in his periphery.

He’s going to make Yakov give him a single from now on. Or else he’s going on strike.

2

Everyone knows the Olympic Village is a pit of debauchery and decadence. Everyone. This is one of the facts of the universe like the moon controlling the tides.

Wide-eyed first time contender Victor Nikiforov is no different, but damn it, he just wants to sleep.

Too bad a rave is happening down the hall. At least he thinks it’s a rave—for some reason, even though it is no longer 2002, Darude’s “Sandstorm” is on repeat at top volume like they need to drown out a rocket launch. Victor has four pillows on his head and a pair of earplugs in. 

He also---and this is related---hates everything.

He considers asking them to turn it down, but then he realizes what that’ll do for his image. So it’s off the table.

He instead grabs two books, his headphones, and his pink iPod after putting on real pants and his Olympic team jacket. He tries to sneak by the giant after party (Before party? During party? Who can keep track at this point?)

Not happening.

“Victor!” shouts Cao Bin, one of the Chinese competitors. “Come show us your moves!”

There are black lights and glow sticks. Somehow there is also a fog machine. Everyone’s down to their underwear, except him. Sure, they’re athletes so they’re attractive (especially the men) as they grind all over each other to the beat. 

Victor tries to find a way out. “I have a headache,” he lies with his photo-ready smile. “I need to get some quiet for a bit! Next time, though!”

“We’ll hold you to that,” says an American ice dancer. She winks, and then blows bubbles with a purple plastic wand.

Victor smiles and nods. As soon as he’s far enough away, he grimaces. Damn, he’ll have to party the next time. Well—if he knows in advance, he can prepare so it won’t burn him out too quickly.

Victor finds a bench that’s empty in part of the park. It’s by an artificial lake, and it’s a nice evening. He puts on music in his iPod—something gentle this time since the pounding EDM was a lot just now, and he looks at the books. One is a nonfiction book about the HIV epidemic in the United States during the 1980s called _And the Band Played On_ , which is fascinating but hard to process due to how sad it is. The other is a novel by a Japanese author about a man caught between two women during the revolution of the 1960s called _Norwegian Wood_. 

Victor opts for the historical account this evening. He was born after Reagan was President and is not American, but sometimes the troubles Watanabe deals with regarding the women escape him. Victor knows he’s gay, has for his whole life, and so sometimes he reads the nonfiction book as a way of paying his respects to his cohorts.

He reads so long the sun begins to rise, the sky a dusty rose and yellow when a moment ago it was black. His event is over, thankfully, so the lack of sleep won’t harm his performance, but he thinks it’s quiet enough now he can sleep in his actual room.

He has to step over the other skaters as if they’re corpses, but he gets his bed and quiet. He sleeps with a peaceful smile.

3

Europeans is a glorious shit show, but isn’t it always?

Victor ends up getting gold, of course, and he smiles for the crowd, medal above his head then pressed to his lips. He is the picture of grace and charm as he answers questions, stays both modest and self-assured, promises greatness at Worlds, and is allowed to step away.

Chris, Swiss Maid Chris, has grown up and filled out, and his voice is way deeper than is justifiable. His free program was a very…mature number to Basement Jaxx’s “U Can’t Stop Me”, and it netted him a respectable finish with silver. 

They have no commitments until the next night when the gala necessitates final performances from them. Chris gives Victor a grin. “You should come out,” he says.

Victor raises an eyebrow. He’s cheery enough when he replies. “Out where?”

“Comeback Bar!” Chris shouts as he puts a fist in the air. “You’ll love it!”

They _are_ in Bern, which may as well be Chris’s home base. He’d likely know the hip spots, and maybe it’ll do him good to get out for once. “Okay!”

It is not good.

It is the worst decision he’s ever made.

The music is loud to the point where he can’t think, everyone is far too grabby or tawdry in their flirting, and he grudgingly sips a glass of champagne careful to not set it down lest he end up an unfortunate statistic. Chris got them in free and everyone here knows him, and then he’s gone, whisked into a crowd of admirers and hangers-on. Victor watches the dancefloor, searching it for something, maybe someone—he isn’t honestly sure. 

He checks the time on his phone, realizing it’s too early to leave without offending his host. He sighs, orders a Diet Coke and finds an empty booth. The thumpa-thumpa goes on, pairs head together to the “back room” with stealthy glances to see who notices, and Victor’s eyes lock on his screen. He scrolls through his photos of his beloved Makkachin. 

Some his poodle has on party hats, as they were taken on his Gotcha Day. Others, him sleeping with a favorite toy. A few of him swimming at his parents’ summer home. Makkachin in a group of poodles big and small at meet ups. He misses his baby. 

“Victor!” Chris croons. 

Victor glances up before staring. Chris covered in men and glitter like he’s the King of some kind of Pride event. They’re varying degrees of cute or hot, to be sure, and Chris naturally looks good shirtless. 

Suddenly, though, Victor is just… _so_ tired.

“Victor, join us,” Chris says with a beaming smile and a wink. “We’re being given bottle service in the VIP Lounge compliments of management. Cristal and Belvedere!”

Victor forces a smile. “Okay.”

He follows the parade of beefcake into the lounge, hot servers in tight clothing fussing over them in sultry German. Victor sips a glass of Cristal, nodding and giving clipped replies when addressed. Chris and two of his party favors make out next to him. Some of the others make out with each other. 

Victor looks at his Makkachin photos until his battery runs out. 

4

He woke up this morning not wanting to go.

He said two weeks ago when he got the event invite on Facebook he would definitely be there, and he offered to bring a bottle of vodka. She told him yes. She is depending on him. He said yes two weeks ago. He was _excited_ two weeks ago.

Getting up is hard today, though, and the thought of spending his entire Saturday from early evening until late at a crowded birthday bash is giving him stress and anxiety. 

Can he get out of it? What if he says Makkachin is…no, he won’t invite the karma.

Victor rolls onto his back with his arm over his eyes. Makkachin cuddles up close, putting his head on his chest. A quiet night in with music and a novel he picked up in a Kindle sale sounds so much better than Mila’s 18th birthday party. 

He likes Mila though—they aren’t as close as they could be, but he enjoys her company a great deal. She’s like a bubbly kid sister, and her constant taking the piss out of _please validate me, an angry kitten_ Yuri Plisetsky never gets old.

He puts it off until he can’t, hugging Makkachin far more than is logical, and then he goes, taking transit so he doesn’t drive after imbibing too much. He tells himself it’s for a good cause and that he knows the people coming so it won’t be as hard as if he had to deal with strangers.

Her apartment is nice—new building with a doorman and a fancy lobby. He likes his pre-Soviet a little more, but to each their own. He’s sent to her loft, which is modern and industrial and has a soft looking purple couch as the living room centerpiece. 

Mila’s on the arm of Sergei, her latest beau. He’s a mountain of a hockey player who still has all his teeth (though, they could be veneers, Victor realizes) with a fauxhawk and an earring. Mila’s hair is up showing off her undercut, and they warmly greet him.

Sara Crispino flew in from Italy for the occasion since she’s basically Mila’s best friend who isn’t a rinkmate. Her brother unfortunately came with, Mickey looking like he wants to actually growl at Victor while he says hi. 

Victor rolls his eyes and fights the urge to snap “still gay” at him.

He gets a drink, some vodka thing called a Moscow Mule that has nothing at all to do with Moscow and for a reason he can’t fathom is served in a copper cup. The cup is very cold and very sweaty in minutes. This is a terrible idea, and he wants to write the inventor an angry letter.

Actual paper! With permanent ink! _From a Mont Blanc fountain number he only uses for special occasions!_

Granted, part of why he's attached to that brand of pen is Hugh Jackman being the face of the company. Fluorescent adolescent Victor may or may not have obsessively watched him as Peter Allen in the _Boy from Oz_ as part of his sexual awakening. No one will ever know for sure.

Victor is tired and gay, and to his left Sara also looks tired but…he isn’t sure about the gay thing. She gives him a weary smile. “Jet lag,” she explains with a sip out of a copper cup. “We basically had an hour at the hotel before heading immediately here. I’m exhausted.”

“I’ve had those days too,” Victor says, thinking of when he collaborated with Hermes. He flew to CDG, did his shoots, and flew right back to St. Petersburg for practice as he had less than three weeks until the GPF. 

Sergei keeps his arm around Mila’s waist, and Victor doesn’t miss the irritated glances Sara feeds him. “I hate him,” she grouses. She then takes a very large swig of vodka and ginger soda.

“I agree,” Victor says as he ponders the picture on Sergei’s Instagram of him, shirtless and oiled for an underwear campaign while giving the wink and gun. Sergei is almost done inking a deal with an NHL team called the Hurricanes. Victor sips his drink, and rolls his eyes when he hears Sergei use the English word “babe” for Mila.

Mila may have his nuts for her breakfast if he doesn’t stop.

Sara definitely will, he notes out of the corner of his eye. Mickey got cornered by Georgi and Anya, and Victor gives Sara a look. “Want to go some place quiet?”

She nods while pouring a second drink. This one is just straight vodka. “Yeah.”

He nods, and they find Mila’s bedroom. Sara shuts the door against the noise. The music gains in volume, a song Victor hates about a guy in a club who apparently doesn’t understand being predatory isn’t a proper way of flirting. It was _everywhere_ the summer it came out and it's blasting from her living room sound system. He wants to grimace, but instead he gives Sara his paparazzi smile.

Mila’s bedroom takes up half the entire floorplan with a wall-to-ceiling view of the river. Her bed is against a side brick wall, but there’s a chaise with its back to the room that faces the view. Sara and Victor park themselves on it and drink in silence. 

Sara yawns so hard her jaw cracks, and Victor winces in sympathy. He considers looking at his phone, but since he has a companion it’s too uncivil. They’re quiet for a very long time, and when next Victor glances at her, Sara has passed out cold. 

He tries not to be too happy that he can pull up his Instagram feed. There’s a Thai skater who recently advanced to Seniors and he is an utter god at social media, so when he followed Victor, Victor happily followed him back.

Mostly though, the Thai skater—Chulanont is his name—has this beautiful cryptid of a roommate that shows up in selfies or videos or his stories sometimes. He’s from Japan, Victor thinks, and he’s named Yuuri. Every time he appears on Phichit’s feed, Victor becomes 10% gayer.

In Phichit’s story today is a video of Cryptid Roommate Yuuri practicing a step sequence. Victor didn’t know Cryptid Yuuri skates. Victor is transfixed watching him move. It’s like he can see his body weave an aria with only the sway of his hips. 

Victor is in an apartment full of people, a woman to his left, and he’s so lonely he thinks he might expire from it. He’s surrounded by people anytime he ventures outside—fans, press, skaters, Yakov, Lilia’s draconian ballet lessons—but he’s always alone. He doesn’t mind being alone, it’s his preference, but this time he’s actually _lonely_. 

The door opens and people stumble in arguing in Russian for a moment before the sounds decidedly become wet, sloppy kissing. Victor’s eyes widen and he slides down on the chaise enough they can’t see him. He can’t leave without making it awkward and oh God not again not _this_ —

The beat goes on, and over the music he hears a zipper opening and a heavy skirt rising. “Careful, Sergei,” Mila orders.

Victor bites back a grumble. 

The background noise alternates between their utterly obnoxious coupling (bless that Mila is quiet when she comes, Victor supposes) and the still-more obnoxious party music. Victor is too gay for this. The world is too gay for this.

Victor sees movement out of his left eye and Sara is awake. She looks…a different kind of unhappy about what they’re accidental voyeurs to. Kind of like she wants to cry or throw something at Sergei. Victor hasn’t dated much, he’s had a few sexual partners that lasted a couple of weeks before they both got too busy, but he’s never been devastated the way Sara seems. 

He hands her the remnants of his drink, though its ice has melted and watered it down. Sara takes it with a grateful smile. Victor does not point out the tears in her eyes.

Sergei finishes, they straighten up and exit. Victor watches Cryptid Yuuri skating while Sara runs to the bathroom. He stares with a pang at Cryptid Yuuri’s open smile.

5

A lot can change in a short time, Victor thinks as he sits back and watches the chaos before him. 

Due to his victory at Onsen on Ice, the Katsukis have closed the onsen to the public for the night, celebrating their youngest member’s triumph. It’s not on the official record or anything, but they’re so happy for Yuuri (who is no longer the Cryptid Roommate, Victor ponders, thanks to Sochi so long ago), and there is shouting and alcohol and more katsudon than he can count. The Nishigori family including their triplets and Minako, Yuuri’s ballet instructor, are all accounted for passing the man of the hour around like a crown. 

Yuuri is bashful and overjoyed in equal measure, though he politely refuses Minako’s repeated offers of sake. He accepts an extra large katsudon from his mother with gratitude, digging in with so much heart Victor thinks he may weep. 

The inn has less people than usual for a Saturday night, far less, but Victor is exhausted from being the tourism ambassador, judge, coach to both Yuris, press agent, and manager all day. When Mari and Yuuko hug Yuuri and say their congrats, Victor takes a bottle of his favorite thing in Japan after Yuuri himself and Hiroko’s cooking—a bottle of sweet potato sochu—to his lodgings. Makkachin watches him go, but he doesn’t follow because the triplets have piled around him. Makkachin has always adored children, so Victor doesn’t make him follow.

Victor sits on his bed with the door ajar, placing the bottle and a glass on his night table. He turns on a lamp, cracks his neck, and opens a book. He still doesn’t understand why Yuuri can be so cold and timid—it’s like the one time Victor openly partied, he’s been punished for it—but he lets him have his space. 

Though, that day before he skated _Yuuri_ embraced _him_ instead of Victor attempting the other way. His heart had fluttered, and he said he loved katsudon in reply to Yuuri declaring himself a tasty portion of it.

He sends a little prayer that Yuuri really understands what he meant.

Victor opens _Madame Bovary_. He can’t help but think how…idiotic all of these people are in this novel. None of them have a lick of sense, and once again he wonders if he’s too gay to exist.

“Victor?” calls a soft voice, his favorite voice through the crack in his door.

“Yuuri, hi,” he replies.

Yuuri changed into a pair of shorts and a soft-looking tee after the competition. He has on the JSF jacket still, and he didn’t put his hair back down like normal. His glasses are on, and Victor falls more in love than five minutes ago. “Can I join you?” Yuuri asks.

“Please,” Victor says.

Yuuri has a glass of melon soda, which Victor should complain about as his coach. He earned it, though, so he says nothing as Yuuri moves towards the love seat across from his bed. Victor swallows. He’d thought maybe since the hug he’d not still be afraid to be near him, but he must have been wrong.

“You can sit here,” Victor finds himself saying. 

Yuuri glances at him with wide eyes. “Okay.”

He sits on the bed, but at the foot facing Victor as opposed to next to him. It’s a small victory. Victor can live with it. He offers a smile. “You should be with your loved ones.”

Yuuri laughs. “I have a hard time with parties some days. The noise and socializing can really…I get worn out a lot,” he admits. “I have a hard time being social, and I’m still learning how to do it on my own since Phichit was usually my buffer. So I thought I’d see if you wanted company—which, if you don’t, I’ll go, no hard feelings—“

“No,” Victor says. “No you’re…fine. I have the same problem, and after being friendly all day, I’m a bit maxed out myself. I can handle you, though.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. He picks up his phone, and Victor for the first time notices his case is JSF jacket blue with toy poodles on it. It’s so cute he smiles.

Yuuri scrolls through social media, and Victor reads. It’s silent, but it’s good.

They look up at each other and smile.

It’s very good.

+1

The doors are closed and made of heavy, thick polished wood. Phichit’s voice can be heard, though his actual words are not quite distinguishable.

Yuuri stands on Victor’s right with their pinkies linked together. He for the first time in his life ordered contacts and wears them today. 

Their suits match, made-to-measure with pink details for Victor and blue for Yuuri. Victor spent a few hours talking to his guy at Armani and working out a deal for them to use a high quality photo from the day in an advertisement in exchange for the tuxedos. They actually flew to Milan for the fittings, and Sara and Mickey met them for dinner one evening while they happened to be local.

Yuuri began to ask what the suits would cost then thought better of it. Giorgio himself flew them in garment bags to Hasetsu, kissing both of them on the cheeks and wishing them the best.

Now it’s the big day, they wear some of the finest tailoring known to man, and Victor’s brows crease in the middle. Yuuri gives him a half-smile. “Can you handle this?” he asks. “Per your traditions, this is going to be at least three days long.”

“If we followed all of my traditions, we’d be consummating right now,” Victor points out with a wink.

Yuuri snorts. “Hey, I wanted to. You were the one who said it might not be such a good idea. Something about Yurio’s delicate sensibilities, was it?”

“Well, and my mother’s,” Victor says. “I love my parents, but I don’t need them to have knowledge of exactly when we…you know.” He thinks for a while. “Also, that’s very ancient and not really done anymore. You went to college, I’d think you’d be a better researcher.”

“Oh be quiet,” Yuuri teases. “It’s just an excuse, is all.”

He gets closer to Victor, and Victor can tell by the expression in his eyes the conversation has activated what Minako refers to as his “Eros” mode. “ _Zyvodchka_ , once I get you alone and out of your suit, you will not be putting it back on for at least two days. It’s for the best.”

Yuuri smirks, appeased. Before he can reply further, the doors swing open as Phichit---their emcee---declares for the first time the presentation of Mister and Mister Katsuki-Nikiforov. They enter the reception hand-in-hand, waving and smiling to friends and loved ones. A fanfare plays that Victor insisted on, the acoustic version of “Latch.”

They sit in their places of honor, and they’re given heaping plates of food by a happy, heaven-sent Chris. “You won’t get to eat otherwise,” he says with a grin as he heads off.

They do the required events that they cherry-picked from the various choices in terms of wedding styles at their disposal—they dance the first dance together to “Grow Old With Me,” they just narrowly avoid fighting each other with the cake (it’s a close thing), and Yuuri surprises Victor with a garter on his right thigh when he takes off his pants after Victor throws a bouquet.

“I love you so much,” Victor manages as he removes it with his teeth while everyone catcalls except Minami Kenjirou who has passed out on the floor from, most likely, his attraction for his _beshert_.

The party is open bar including the finest liquor, Victor’s father sparing no expense, and everyone’s hammered within an hour. They have seventy-one to go. This may end in tears, though whose no one can say.

Otabek takes over the turntables at one point, putting on a suggestive song by Marvin Gaye. Seung Gil has somehow managed to get Takeshi Nishigori to make out with him. Yuuko somehow isn’t bothered. Victor wonders if there’s some rule to their marriage he isn’t privy to, but then the song changes and he forgets as Chris pulls him into a line dance with Phichit and his new husband.

(Will that ever stop being the best word? Nope. Not if he has a say.)

Mila grinds on Sara, who looks like the Feast of the Seven Fishes came early until there’s red lipstick on her neck, and well, Victor can’t help but be glad that’s settled and Sara got her wish. Sara drags Mila somewhere quieter, and Victor catches her eye. They nod at each other with smiles as she gets her lady.

When the respectable authority figures head out for the night to rest, it gets wild. No one cares about pants anymore. The pole comes out. Mickey lets Emil and Isabella do shots off his abs while JJ films them, cheering his fiancee on particularly loudly before they trade places. The Nishigoris and Seung Gil disappear. Sara and Mila come back, and Mila can't walk straight. Guang Hong and Leo play the innocent lambs for four hours before they give up and get wrecked like the others. Victor loses track of Yurio, sure he’s talking about eye bleach to Otabek somewhere.

It’s great! It’s the best day of his life, and he doesn’t need to take time to recharge until about the twenty-four hour mark, Yuuri by his side as they _do_ consummate the vows then in their honeymoon suite. They emerge six hours later and are promptly given pancakes and bellinis by a grinning Phichit who looks daisy-fresh.

Victor looks at Yuuri, the matching bands they wear, the memory of the vows ringing like bells in his mind. 

He’s overjoyed.


End file.
